


oh, your love is sunlight

by ambiances



Series: more things you said [2]
Category: Station 19 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But also, Chatacter Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, like more angst than expected, vic is just a badass firefighter okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 08:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiances/pseuds/ambiances
Summary: Vic can’t sleep.But she’s so, so tired.(The crying and the fire follow her everywhere.)





	oh, your love is sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> this fic took a turn that I was not expecting. like, literally the absolute opposite of what i had planned before writing, in terms of both plot and angst level. the version of vic that i dive into here is completely based off a personal headcanon of what could happen in this weeks episode. however, i do think we got a glimpse of this part of her in the late of season 1, when she was dealing with her fear of fire. obviously, this will probably never happen in canon, and the medical part of this fic is all based off what research i could find on google (sorry, med experts), but it was definitely fun to write. 
> 
> shout out to the vicley groupchat for inspiring this headcanon, which in turn inspired #5 and #8 in my “things you said” drabble collection, which this fic is heavily based off of. 
> 
> comments, kudos, and creative criticisms are always loved and cherished. 
> 
> title from “sunlight” by hozier, which i listened to on repeat while writing this.

Vic liked—scratch that— _ loved _ her job. She loved going to the station, seeing her friends (her family, really) and going on calls with them. She loved saving people, and the rush of adrenaline she got when she ran into a burning building, only to come out with no casualties and the fire contained. She loved the pride that came with reuniting families, or inspiring little girls to follow her path. Well, maybe not her exact path; sleeping with your boss’ boss’ boss was never a good route to follow.    
  
But hey, he was part of her job, and she loved him too.    
  
Sometimes, though—and this was such a rare occurrence—she didn’t like it all that much. She wouldn’t say hate, that being such a strong word, but sometimes she really couldn’t stand the smoke, or the heat, or the crying that came from the families with lost ones. She couldn’t stand how much she cried at night, when she was sure Lucas was fast asleep and couldn’t hear her. 

 

She really loved her job, but lately she wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it. 

 

Lucas made it better, even though he had no idea. His scheduled monthly drop-ins (and the surprise visits in between) always left her so warm inside. A simple smile, a discreet touch or brush of the hands—it was enough to keep her smiling until she was home in his arms. He was sweet, and thoughtful, and made corny jokes at the best times, yet knew when to stay quiet and hold her at the worst. 

 

She really, really loved him. 

 

It was a shame no one else knew. 

 

There was Gibson, who she would never ask for relationship advice, and Travis, her best friend, but he just didn’t  _ get it  _ like Maya or Andy would. With the girls, it was different; Andy could tell her when to speak her mind when she felt things were going down, and Maya would call her out if she was overreacting, but still hype her up when she needed it. They offered invaluable advice only girlfriends could—no offence to Travis, of course. 

 

She had toyed with the idea of telling them: maybe slipping it casually into conversation, like it was no big deal, or getting them drunk enough that if they did remember in the morning, they would be more curious than mad. But every time she came close to slipping up, she remembered the fight that had followed when Lucas had found out that Travis knew. Though, he had apologized for how he had reacted, and they had moved on. He understand that her work friends were her family, and that she had no one else to talk to besides them. Her parents were dead—biological and adoptive—and she didn’t talk to her sister that often, maybe once or twice a year on Christmas and birthdays. Travis, Dean and even Gibson had become like brothers to her, and Andy and Maya were the best sisters she could ask for. 

 

(Warren was an odd mix of an older brother and a dad. She hadn’t quite decided which category he fell further into yet.) 

 

Even though he understood, she knew he was scared what would happen if she were to tell the Station. She could guess Dean and Warren would be surprised but supportive, but she was nervous that Maya and Andy would take it the wrong way, possibly never look at or trust her the same again. 

 

The lack of sleep she was getting left her alone with her thoughts, and turns out she could overthink a _ lot _ . 

 

Vic was surprised she hadn’t crashed on call yet. She was functioning off three hours of sleep per night, and that was being generous. She would spend what felt like hours staring up at the ceiling, and next thing she knew she was startling awake at 4am and couldn’t slip back asleep. The nights she was home she tried to cuddle against Lucas, thinking that’d bring her more comfort, but instead she got an excess of body heat and sweat and was reminded of the fire that pricked every cell in her body. Then she’d turn away, kick away the blankets, and spend another few hours fascinated by the patterns on her bedside table until she had to leave for her shift. 

 

The past two weeks had become a very, very unhealthy routine. 

 

(Those little girls shouldn’t want to follow her path at _ all _ .)

 

“You okay, Vic?” Travis asked over coffee one morning, concern more than obvious. She was starting her third cup when he was only halfway through his first. 

 

“Yeah it’s–it’s nothing.” She smiled, “just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” 

 

“Ah,” he grinned. “I know what you mean.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and she forced out a laugh that sounded genuine. 

 

_ Oh, if only you knew.  _

 

“I’m gonna check stock for the aid car, I think I’m on it today.” She got up and dumped the rest of her coffee (as much as  _ that  _ hurt her) and left the Beanery before he could offer to help. She just needed to be alone for a bit, before fully starting her day. 

 

As her luck would be, she encountered none other than the Chief as she made her way to the Barn. He offered a fleeting smile, which she reciprocated with ease, but something else must have slipped through. He followed her through the door, matching her small talk. When they were offered privacy with the engines, he made sure no one was around and put a hand on her arm in comfort.  

 

She didn’t mean to flinch away. 

 

The sleep deprivation had her brain functioning all…  _ weird  _ and suddenly she couldn’t stand Lucas—her Lucas—showing any sort of affection for her. 

 

“Not right now,” she snapped under her breath. “I can’t deal with this.”

 

Hurt flashed across his face, and it brought her back to their first—and so far, only—fight, when he had found out about Travis. 

 

_ ‘Is this conversation over?’  _

 

“Vic, I—”

 

“Later,” she said, perhaps a bit too harshly. “Please.” 

 

Thought he clearly had more to say, he nodded slowly and accepted her proposition. “Later,” he repeated. He looked at her just before turning away, holding her eyes to tell her more than he could say. 

 

_ You can talk to me _ . 

 

—————————

 

The adrenaline wasn’t there. The joy, the spark, the sense of adventure—none of it was there. She just felt hollow, like she had spiraled so far down a hole and there was no way for her to get out. She couldn’t even say she was scared, moreso she didn’t know what way the call would take them and that unknown, that grey, it just made it so much worse. 

 

“Vic,” Travis called, somewhere beside her. “Vic, let’s go!” 

 

Whatever she had fallen into, she snapped out of it, whipping off her seatbelt and slipping out of the engine at record speed. She couldn’t tell if she had zoned out or fallen asleep, and from Travis’ expression, she didn’t know which was worse. 

 

The entire call she was swimming through a dense fog. Though, she must have comprehended the orders shouted at her. She floated from place to place on the site, lifted things here, sprayed the fire there. She wasn’t even sure what she was thinking about, either. It wasn’t Lucas, or her teammates that occupied her thoughts, but rather a big, white, nothing. Just blank space, bouncing around. She couldn’t concentrate on one topic, or one person, no matter how hard she may have tried. 

 

It all caught up to her in the house. 

 

She easily identified the screams for help, but even that wasn’t enough to break the fog that laid before her eyes. She blindly followed the noise, until she came upon a room filled with smoke so thick she thought she had entered her own mind. There was a woman in the corner, Vic could just see her silhouette, and she got to work, following the procedure she had hundreds of times before. But this time, something was off. Maybe she was too slow, or got their too late, or maybe she had just lost whatever it was that made her a goddamn good firefighter, because the woman slumped in her arms. 

 

And for some reason, she had no idea what to do. 

 

Minutes—or really, seconds—later, Travis burst in, mumbling something or the other. Or maybe he was yelling. Vic couldn’t tell, the smoke was so thick and everything in her mind felt so hazy. 

 

“Vic,” someone called, and acutely she could connect it to being Travis. “Goddamnit, Vic, help me!”

 

Someone pushed her harshly in the shoulder, and she looked up to see Travis, more frazzled than ever. 

 

She isn’t quite sure what happened next. 

 

He carried out the woman, who was immediately carted off into an ambulance and taken straight to Grey Sloan. He had to half drag her out with him, because apparently she just really, really wasn’t all there. She must have fucked up, and badly, because Travis was going off on her. Travis didn’t yell, or shout, or get angry, and especially not with her. Certainly no one else expected it either, because she could feel the eyes of her crew pinning her down. 

 

“Vic.” His voice temporarily broke through the fog. “What’s going on?”

 

She must have been crying, because everything was blurry, and her eyes stung. Her voice sounded shattered. “I don’t know.”

 

—————————

 

The ride back was silent. The haziness was mostly gone now, and she could focus on things again. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing, though, because all she could replay was what had just happened, where she had gone wrong. Never, not in all her time from the academy to being at Station 19, had a call gone so disastrously. 

 

_ I can think of another time.  _

 

The thought startled her. Suddenly, all she could hear were the cries of a baby, mixed with that of a man who had lost his love. Every limb, ever part of her, just felt so heavy. Her head felt dense, and overstuffed, and she had the urge to fall asleep. But every time she closed her eyes, all she could feel was the fire, licking its way up her skin and through to her heart where it—

 

“Vic.” A hand on her shoulder, squeezing. Travis’ eyes were more than concerned. 

 

Fog. 

 

“I’m coming,” she said. It came out softer than she intended, more broken than she really felt. 

 

More broken than she wanted to feel. 

 

The team was waiting in the Beanery, looking down into cups of coffee or out the window, into the sunset streaking across the sky. It was silent before she got there, but when she entered the kitchen everything somehow fell quieter. They seemed scared of looking at her, or talking to her. Finally, breaking the silence, Gibson asked, “What happened?” 

 

“I–” Vic realized that she didn’t know what happened. She couldn’t remember. 

 

“What do you mean you can’t remember?” Andy asked, pushing away from the counter. She hadn’t realized she said that out loud. 

 

“Are you okay, Vic? You don’t seem like yourself,” Dean said gently. It wasn’t meant to insulting, she knew that, yet somehow it stung more than a slap across the face. 

 

The rest of the team followed with similar questions, and then Warren asked, “Have you been sleeping alright?”

 

That—it broke her. She didn’t know why, but suddenly she was sobbing in the middle of the floor, unable to form a coherent word or thought. Through the blurriness she saw Lucas come up and hug her tightly—she didn’t even realize he was there. The familiarity of his embrace reminded her of the conversation they had had in the morning, and she cried harder, gripping onto the fabric of his jacket like her life depended on it. 

 

Maybe it did. 

 

Right now, it really, really did. 

 

She could feel the concern radiating off the rest of the team, mixed with the betrayal that seemed very Maya-like, but she could have cared less. All she wanted was to stay in Lucas’ arms, and fall asleep without the noise and feelings that followed her there. 

 

—————————

 

The sunlight was bright in her face. It was warm too, but for some reason she didn’t find it unpleasant. Though everything felt hazy, and she realized she was in her bed at home, wearing leggings and Lucas’ sweater—it was the soft one he wore to the Peer Support Group. She had pretty much claimed it as her own as soon as they started dating. 

 

The clock on her bedside table said it was 1500, which couldn’t have been right because they came back from the call around 1900. She looked back out the window, into the brightening sun, and belatedly realized she must have slept for almost an entire day. 

 

And she had a shift. 

 

Oh,  _ shit.  _

 

She scrambled out of the bed, taking notice that the blankets had been neatly folded at the end, far enough away that she wouldn’t have touched them. She would have to ask Lucas about that later, but at the moment her mind was singularly focused on getting ready and booking it to the station. 

 

She was just slipping her pants on when her bedroom door opened, and she had a near-heart attack before realizing it was Lucas, still in his Chief’s clothes. He looked frazzled, like he had ran over. 

 

“Thought you’d be up,” he said. He took an arm and guided her gently back onto the bed. When he sat her down, she immediately sprung back up, reaching for a shirt.

 

“I just completely missed my shift,” she exclaimed, hating how scratchy her voice sounded. 

 

“You’re on medical leave for the rest of the week.” He said it so quietly she almost missed it. But she didn’t, and she was  _ furious _ . 

 

“Who says,” she demanded, shoving a finger into his chest. “Who says I’m sick? I’m not! I’m perfectly fine.”

 

“Vic,” he sighed, “you’re clearly not okay. As the Chief—” He held up a hand when he saw the anger flash across her eyes “—your Captain and Lieutenants agree with me, that you need at least a week of rest. You’re not fit to be working, not when your this sleep deprived.”

 

She balked, even though she knew it was true. “And how do you know that?”

 

He gave her a look that told her he more than knew, but still entertained her with an answer. “Warren said he’d seen it in more than enough patients and their families, and Gibson related it back to just before he went on his leave. Though, he said you seem sadder whereas he had become aggressive.”

 

She foggily remembered crying in the Beanery, but the last comment rubbed her the wrong way. “I’m not like Gibson, okay? He had PTSD and I’m just a little tired.” 

 

Lucas sighed and dropped his head. “You’re more than a little tired, Vic.”

 

She felt stricken. “What, you think I have PTSD or something?” 

 

“I think you should talk to someone,” he said after a beat of silence. 

 

“I’m talking to you.” It was her try for a joke but it fell flat. 

 

Lucas reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He placed in her lap and held it there gently. “Gibson gave me the number for the psychiatrist he went to. He said that despite all her hardassery, she helped him a lot.”

 

Vic was tempted to grab the paper and throw it across the room. “I don’t need a shrink, Luke.” 

 

“Don’t think of it that way, this is meant to help you,” he insisted. 

 

“I don’t need help because I’m fine,” she bit out, and she didn’t realize how defensive it made her seem until the words flew out of her mouth. 

 

“You’re not sleeping, you flinch at every unexpected noise, you can’t keep your emotions in check—”

 

“Okay, now that’s just insulting—”  

 

“You don’t want to talk to the civilians, suddenly hate babies,” he continued. “You’re not yourself, Vic. I’ll never be able to take back that I couldn’t help you earlier, but let me be there for you now.” 

 

Lucas was pleading, on his knees and still in his Chief’s clothes, looking up to her to like she was his moon and stars and he couldn’t bare to see her this way, so  _ broken.  _ She looked into the depth of his ocean eyes, and sighed. 

  
  


Vic sucked in a shaky breath and accepted the paper. “Okay.”

 

—————————

 

She stayed in her car for more time than necessary, gripping the wheel until her knuckles were sore and white.  _ You can do this _ , she told herself.  _ You’re a strong independent woman that’s probably gonna get diagnosed with something you don’t want, and that’s okay.  _

 

She opened the car door and slipped outside, the post-winter air biting at her exposed skin. She sped into the hospital, making it to the reception area when she realized she had no idea where she was going. Thankfully, she spotted a familiar face talking to a nurse. 

 

“DeLukes,” she greeted, sliding next to him when he was finished talking. “Interesting seeing you here.”

 

He chuckled. “I could say the same. What brings you over? Checking up on someone?” He started walking towards the elevators, and she quickly followed. 

 

“I’m here to see Dr. Wilkes. Have no idea where to go, though.” His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say. 

 

“I’ll take you up,” he said instead. “Not too far off from where I’m going.” 

 

They were silent as they rode the elevator up, mostly watching other people filter in and out. The silence got to her more than anything, so she quietly said, “I’m not crazy, or anything, I just haven’t slept in a while.”

 

He nodded, not saying anything. He took what she said at face value she accepted it. God, her trying to justify it made her sound crazier. But, she left it. Better to say nothing than too much. 

 

The elevator stopped and he walked out, Vic scrambling to follow. They walked down one hallway, and as they turned he said softly, “My dad, back in Italy, didn’t sleep for four days once. Operated on seven people in a frenzy.” 

 

Vic was taken aback by that. From his tone, she guessed it wasn’t a pretty ending. “And what happened?”

 

Andrew sighed. “Four of them died. He had connections so he didn’t get in trouble but—” he stopped talking when he saw how wide her eyes had gotten, and immediately rewinded on what he said. “Shit, I didn’t mean that you were like him, or anything, just that it’s good you’re seeing someone because you don’t want that to escalate and, uh, yeah.” He put a hand on her back in comfort, gently rubbing circles until it seemed she could breathe again. 

 

“Sorry,” she said, her voice raspy. “That just took me by surprise. Way to scare a girl, DeLukes,” she laughed, but the doctor saw the pain in it. 

 

“C’mon,” he said quietly, “we’re almost at Dr. Wilkes.”

 

Vic followed him the last few steps until they were in front of a wooden door. He gestured for her to make the first move, so she knocked gently. After a moment with no response, she thought to knock again, but the door swung open and a woman that clearly meant business was waiting on the other side. 

 

“Victoria?” she inquired. Vic nodded a confirmation and the woman smiled, “come on in. It’s so great to meet you.” 

 

—————————

 

It had been two weeks since Victoria had gone to work. Lucas assured her she wasn’t missing anything important, and Travis confirmed that with their bi-daily phone calls. He was probably pumping up how dry the shifts were, but she was glad that she didn’t have to clock in. She wasn’t sure how she would react to all that smoke in her lungs and fire on her skin. 

 

She was getting better. The fog started to lift up, and she was able to think sharper again. Talking to someone who could rationalize what she was going through, it helped. It helped so much more than she thought it would. The sessions were three times a week, but after the first two she found herself looking forward to it. Dr. Wilkes—who insisted Vic call her Jennifer—was surprisingly easy to talk to. She gave her little tactics to use in calming herself down, or things to add to her routine just before she went to sleep to ensure she would get more than three hours a night. 

 

“What you’re experiencing is PTSD,” Dr. Wilkes said during their third session. “Since you were alone on the call, those nerves added to your anxiety, which lead to you feeling as if the death of the mother was fully your responsibility. And don’t tell me it was.” She gave her a stern look when Vic opened her mouth to argue. “The uncontained fire resonated with you subconsciously, so whenever you feel heat, your body took you back to the panic you felt in that moment.”

 

“Will it ever stop?” Vic asked quietly, choosing to look at her hands rather than in front of her. 

 

Jennifer sighed. “It’s a process. It’s not like the flu, where it can disappear within a few days and never come back. This will stick with you, but you can learn to manage it so that you won’t  _ have  _ to deal with it daily, or on a call.” 

 

“But it won’t actually go away?”

 

“Like I said, it’ll never just ‘go away’, but I can help make sure that you can go back to running into collapsing buildings, or whatever it is you do for fun,” she winked, and Vic found herself genuinely laughing, “without the panic or stress.” 

 

She ran her hands down her pant legs, trying to get rid of the sweat that had developed. She took in a breath. Then another. When she exhaled, she looked up and made eye contact for the first time the entire session. “Okay, guess it’s time to start with those tactics?”

 

The first thing Jennifer told her to do was talk. Talk more than she felt was necessary, about anything she wanted. She could start small, with discussions about what she had eaten for breakfast or stories of her friends, but she was naturally a rambler, so soon she was spilling about her fears and the event itself. 

 

“I don’t know if it was the stress, but it just felt so hot, y’know? I didn’t have my turnout gear, so I guess being in civilian clothing added to my sweat. And I was so exhausted too; I genuinely wanted to just pass out on the ground or something, the baby or people be damned.” Vic laughed nervously, and Dr. Wilkes smiled in pity, but also understanding. She continued, “But I didn’t. I just sat there, hotter than I’ve ever felt, so exhausted, and confused, and lost on what to do. The team arrived soon after though, which was such a relief, and my life just slipped back into routine. We’ve had casualties before and everyone brushed it off as such, but I don’t know, it was just… different. And none of us realized.”

 

So she talked a lot, which cleared her head during the day. Yet, when she laid in bed at night, she spent the time staring at a blank ceiling. 

 

“Have you actually tried to sleep,” Dr. Wilkes probed gently during their second week. 

 

“Obviously I’ve tried,” Vic snapped, but immediately apologized. 

 

“Have you slept at all? What do you remember from those few hours you do get in,” she pressed. 

 

“I—” she stopped herself, realizing she didn’t remember anything. She knew she slept, because one moment it would be 2am and when she glanced back at the clock a few minutes later, three hours had passed.

 

“This may sound ridiculous, but you seem to be afraid of sleeping. You’re terrified of what you will see when you close your eyes that your brain goes into shutdown and keeps you awake, so you don’t have the possibility of having to face it. Yet, you’ve yet to sleep and have that nightmare, so who’s to say it’ll actually happen?”

 

And that’s how Vic found herself sipping chamomile tea after knocking some prescribed pills at 1900. It was kind of ridiculous, because half of the shows she watched wouldn’t even be on until two hours later, but Dr. Wilkes said to give herself time to ease into it, and who was she to argue that? 

 

The first time she actually slept the night, she didn’t remember what she dreamt of. She didn’t wake up either, and it was sort of ridiculous how proud Lucas was, but she felt good. Like, really, really good. It had only been a night, but she felt herself slipping back into the same awesome, trailblazing firefighter she was— _ is _ . 

 

But at the end of the week, the nightmares began. 

 

She didn’t remember what she saw in her dreams, if anything, but she knew that she spent most of the night staring at her bedside table, feeling like a thousand fires were blazing around her. She didn’t want to move, and she tried so hard to keep her eyes shut. Eventually she found herself waking up later in the morning, Lucas already gone for work. She didn’t tell him about that night. Or the ones that followed. 

 

Dr. Wilkes wasn’t impressed when she admitted that she hadn’t told him. “Communication is key, Vic; remember this was one of the first things I told you.” She didn’t sound exactly like a disapproving mother, but Vic certainly felt guilty. 

 

“I know.”

 

“Then talk to him,” she urged. “Next time you’re feeling that way, wake him up and talk it out. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

 

And she was right, Lucas wouldn’t mind. He was so dependable, and always beside her in support, he wouldn’t be upset if she woke him up for a few minutes. If anything, he would be more than willing to just hold her and listen for a bit. 

 

(Still, there was a little voice in her head that told her the opposite.)

 

(Dr. Wilkes said fuck that little voice.) 

 

She has just passed the three week mark, and she found herself staring at the ceiling. It was a major setback, and she felt so  _ embarrassed  _ that she wanted to roll over and cry and just give up on everything she had built up. 

 

She couldn’t sleep. For the first time in two weeks she  _ couldn’t. Sleep.  _ She was tired (God, she was so tired) but every time she closed her eyes her mind drifted back to the baby’s cries mixing with the father’s, begging his wife to wake up. She could feel the fire surrounding her, and the heat felt so real it didn’t take long until she shoved the blankets onto Lucas’ side. 

 

No matter how much relapsing and staring blankly ahead for the rest of the night appealed to her as the easy route to take, Dr. Wilkes’ words bounced around in her head. 

 

_ ‘Talk to someone, don't bottle it up.’ _

 

She glanced at the clock—1 am—and figured it was now or never. She rolled over and tapped Lucas’ shoulder lightly. He stirred a bit but didn’t open his eyes, so she pressed harder and spoke up: “Lucas?”

 

He moved in the bed and his eyes opened slowly, trying to gage his surroundings. When he saw Vic sitting up beside him, his confusion turned to worry. “Vic? Everything okay?”

 

She was so tempted to say  _ yes _ , and ask for a glass of water, pretend everything was just as it had been. But the heat continued to close around her, and the cries escalated louder and louder. “Can we–can we talk?” she whispered. 

 

He shifted closer to her, wide awake. “Of course.”

 

—————————

 

It had been two months since she started seeing Dr. Wilkes, and Vic was finally cleared for active duty. She had returned to work a few weeks prior, but was left on reception or inventory stock only. At the time, she figured it was better than nothing, but soon realized she actually missed the adrenaline of getting a call, and running into the fire headfirst. She missed it so much, she sort of disobeyed the doctor’s orders and went on a call when it was all hands on deck. 

 

(Lucas was too damn proud to be angry.) 

 

Dr. Wilkes gave her a long speech about following what she told her, that verbal instructions were just like prescribed medication, but, well, Vic had never been one to follow the rules. She was just happy that she could get back in there, hop on the aid car one shift or sit in the engine the next. You see, Vic loved her job. She loved going to the station, and seeing her friends (her family, really) and responding to calls with them. She loved saving people, and the rush of adrenaline she got when she ran into a burning building, only to come out with no casualties and the fire contained. She loved the pride that came with reuniting families, or inspiring little girls to follow her path. And it didn’t matter if they followed her exact path, because in the end they would come out okay. 

 

Lately, Vic really, really loved her job. 

 

Getting back into it wasn’t as hard of a transition as she expected. There were the few calls that hit too close to her heart, but then Lucas was there to talk to. And if Lucas wasn’t, she had Travis, or Maya, or Andy, or anyone on the team, really. And, best part, she could talk to Andy and Maya about all her  _ boy problems _ , as they liked to say. It wasn’t like she had problems to talk about, moreso she just needed a few people to drool to about how hot her boyfriend was. 

 

(They reluctantly agreed with her.)

 

Turns out, they had been more curious than mad, and she didn’t even have to get them drunk. Andy wasn’t one to judge, and even though Maya was shocked, she certainly wasn’t disapproving. 

 

“Good job on getting that,” she teased over drinks one night. “Really got some top tier dick.”

 

(Vic wasn’t sure if she and Andy started choking at the same time, but Maya had been pounding both their backs either way.)  

 

Of course, there was Lucas. He was part of her job, and she really, really, really loved him. He looked at her like she hung every star in the sky, like she was his moon and sun and every bright and beautiful thing in between. He never pressed, but he would always ask how her day went, even if he had been the one to have the shittiest shift of the century. She sensed that he regretted that he wasn’t able to be there sooner, to catch when things had just started spiraling and nipped it at the bud. She wouldn’t let him feel sorry, though. He had nothing to be sorry about, not when his love was like the sunlight through the window in the morning, waking her up from a good night of rest. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if you read it all, thank you. all the love. 
> 
> talk to me on tumblr (oliviacalibans.tumblr.com) or on twitter @ aambiances


End file.
